Orange Colored Sky
by tokyobleach
Summary: Where does one go when almost everything they have to live for is gone? Rated T for mild language and gore. Please review. c:
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter I**

The cracked pavement was hard and burning hot on my cheek. My eyes were heavy-lidded, my mouth was open, blood trickled from my nostrils, and sand viciously whipped at me from all sides. My goggles had gotten a thick web-like crack over each lens.

Through the stinging lashes of sand striking my skin, I felt a more intense burn around my ankles. My heartbeat quickened, and my eyes widened, opening fully as my survival instinct kicked in.

I heaved myself up from my belly onto my elbows, hyperventilating as I realized what was going on. They were tying my legs together.

"Be still, boy!" One of them yelled over the swirling waves of golden sand, crimson tunic making him stand out like a beacon in this sandstorm.

I reached for my voice, angered by these arrogant, violent men. I never really spoke much, unless I had something important to say. This situation was definitely one that required speech, however. "I'm not-"

A black-gloved hand clapped over my mouth, "Silence, grunt."

Wriggling, trying to break their hold on me, I screamed and bit the hand over my mouth as someone yanked my arms behind my back. The sharp burn returned as they tightened ropes around my wrists. I knew it. This was a slaving party. They would try to enlist me into their ranks, without a doubt. After all, I was young and stringy. Prime stock.

One of them jerked my head back, shoving a wadded-up red cloth inside my mouth. "Don't bother trying to spit it out." He laughed, and I felt him cut the strap of my goggles. They fell to the ground. His hand grasped at my hood, and I winced. If he found out what was under there, he'd kill me. Or, rather, he'd have to kill me, because some fates are worse than death.

Bang.

The Legionnaire slumped over, dead. Headless. Bloody.

Five more bangs, all in two seconds.

I groaned and spit the cloth out.

"The way these rats treat people, you'd think a homocidal robot gave birth to them. You okay, kiddo?"

Limply, I rolled over onto my back and squinted. Through the whirlwind of sand, the blurred shape of a man peering over some sort of rifle became visible as he walked toward me. A black bandana covered his mouth, and he had a paranoid look in his eyes, as if he feared I could have a hundred backup guys hiding nearby.

"Bleeding some," I muttered, feeling lightheaded.

His eyes widened as I sat up and my hood fell back. It wasn't that surprising, was it?

I felt a warm trickle run down my temple and realized my hair was damp.

"Jesus, hold still!" the man exclaimed. I panicked, my heart quickened, and my vision faded to black.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter II**

"You awake, or am I gonna have to start banging pots and pans together?"

My eyes fluttered open, and I yawned. As I tried to stretch, I realized it. I was still tied up, lying on my side. He didn't trust me, but he still helped... Who was this good samaritan with a paranoid gaze?

I looked around. This shack we were in was tiny, only containing the bed I lay in, a set of lockers, and a stove. Aside from a few objects that looked like the man had only just unpacked them, that was it. This place must have been abandoned... But the man seemed to have known that.

"So, how's the head wound, blondie?" the man asked while seemingly looking at a pot of water boiling on the stovetop. He glanced at me from the corner of his eye, taking the last puff of a cigar before putting the stub out by rubbing it on a wall. He smiled a little, seeming self-satisfied at the grey smudge on the wall.

I swallowed dryly, "I..."

He turned to look at me, and I noticed something about him I hadn't when he was farther away, as I couldn't see things unless they were less than fifty feet away from me. He had one eye, or so it seemed, as he wore an eye patch. His bandana rested loosely on the collar of his dusty trenchcoat, and a rough beard covered his jaws and chin.

"Thank you..." I said, my voice barely audible.

The man snapped, and broke out in a wide smile, "I knew it. You're a girl, no wonder you freaked out so much. I heard that scream and thought Loki was scaring off some troublemakers. Of course, I worry about Loki when I don't hear growling, so I... Well, you know the rest." He looked down and pulled a pocket watch from a pouch at his side labeled Mojave Express. Clipping it shut, he dropped it back inside the bag. "The sandstorm is still raging, so may as well get comfy. Kick your feet up and get used to your new hairdo."

"New...?" I mumbled, then tried to raise a hand to my scalp, only to remember I was still tied.

"Oh, right. I'm gonna play it safe here and keep you tied up. Don't take it personally, but I don't trust strangers, no matter what they may look like."

"I'm..." I tripped over my words and smiled wryly. "I'm not a threat. Or a talker."

"Let's get better acquainted, then. Not like we'll be going anywhere in this weather, right?"

I jumped at the sound of scratching at the door, my breathing quickening.

"Whoa, now. Calm down. Just Loki wanting inside." He walked to the door and pulled it open, letting a large grey dog with a thin, but long coat inside. It shook itself off from nose to tail, sending amber sand flying in all directions.

The man coughed and waved an arm, trying to clear the swirling dust motes from the air. "You been using your wolf nose to sniff out rats? Try not to drag half the Mojave in with you next time."

My eyes widened. Not a dog, but a wolf. That interested me, since wolves themselves were pretty rare around here. Most of the wolves were far north of here, which showed this man had traveled very far.

Suddenly, his voice interrupted my thoughts. "Things I know about you: You have pure white hair, even down to your eyelashes. Your eyes are red. Your skin is badly sunburned. From this, I gather you have the uncommon condition called albinism, right?"

I nodded and gulped.

"Neat." He nodded in return, and continued, "You seem very young, and are a girl, though, and don't take it the wrong way, your looks could have fooled me. You travel alone. That is dangerous, blondie. Yeah, those Legion are the least of your worries. At least when they rape you, they do it while calling you their wife. Raiders, junkies, regular A-holes, they do it and let their buddies have a turn before leaving you to die."

"I know. It's why I like that I can pass for a boy..."

"And that's where the Legion came in, huh?" He pulled a knife out of his pocket and started cleaning under his nails. "You were able to avoid capture for a while before this, though. What's your secret?"

I smiled, "I'm fast and know how to hide... But I have slight hearing loss and can't see anything past fifty feet." Maybe I'd said too much.

The man raised his only visible eyebrow. "Explains a lot... Let me introduce myself. Morgan Hollister, though lately they call me Courier Six."

"You're the one with the chip..."

"Yep, that's me..." he looked at me, paranoid glare returning, "but how did you know about the chip?"

I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, "I'm Francoise East... But I'll break your nose if you call me that." My voice trembled as I said that, and even cracked in places. This sort of thing made me nervous to talk about. "Call me Fanny."

"Isn't that a silly outdated nickname?" Morgan said, lighting a cigar, "And you avoided the question." His paranoid, one-eyed gaze intensely bored into my own eyes.

"Nothing's outdated at The Tops, baby," I mumbled, smiling warily, "My daddy gave the nickname to me. Fanny, daddy Benny's little porcelain doll..."

"Well, this is awkward..." Morgan muttered, taking a deep drag on his cigar and looking the other way.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter III**

The last time I saw my father, he had ordered all of the Chairmen to erase my existence. A big job was coming. Once he did everything he could with the chip he got from Courier Six, he'd come back for me.

A month passed. Then another. Tales of a courier getting into Lucky 38 began to surface. Daddy said he'd kill Courier Six... So something went wrong. the courier hit a lucky streak. I knew my daddy was dead, then, and made my way toward Vegas. My safehouse had done the trick, but I wished it hadn't.

_"You just stay here and sit pretty," he told me, patting my head. "Who knows, doll? Maybe when I come back for you when the summer's over, you'll be a regular beanpole."_

"Daddy," I began, raising an eyebrow, "It's always summer."

He laughed and straightened his tie, then reached in his suit pocket, producing a cigarette and an engraved lighter. "Do me a favor, baby doll. Never pick up this habit."

"You know I'd never," I replied, smiling at him.

He closed his eyes and exhaled, smoke unfurling through the air as it escaped his lungs. "You're an angel, Fanny. Gonna be a real catch when you get older."

"I'm already older, daddy." I twirled a lock of hair around my finger. "Maybe some cat out there won't mind that I'm no Vera Keyes."

Daddy placed his hands on my shoulders and turned me to face the floor-length hanging mirror on the wall. "Fanny, angel, Vera Keyes ain't got nothing on you. First off, her heart quit beatin' a long time ago. Second off, I seen her picture. You're gonna put her to shame when you grow up. Your momma was smokin', a real class act."

I looked at my pale visage in the mirror. I had grown three inches this year, and still was an inch under five feet tall. A ruffly, custom-made checkered dress to match Daddy's suit covered my thin frame. A checkered ribbon was tied in a neat bow atop my head. White locks spilled from my crown, cascading down to my knees in soft waves. Wide, red eyes started back at me through thick eyeglasses set on a pixie-like nose. A small, full-lipped mouth was set in a wry grin as I doubted his words.

Since this was before I had to fend for myself, of course, the last thing on my mind was the deadly world outside. I was more concerned with my breastless, 4'11" frame. I was stupid.

"Didn't you hear me?" Morgan asked, shaking his head. "I said I have some eyeglasses here. They'll have to do until you have more options."

I took the pair of glasses from his hand. They were of a regular design, with tinted lenses. Sliding them on my face, I noticed things actually cleared up a little.

I looked back at Morgan and smiled, then gasped. His face was nearly covered in scars of various shapes and thicknesses.

He blinked, then snapped, "Ah, right. The scars. They're just from... brawls." He nervously began to bustle from here to there, packing up his things. "You probably can't really tell that well, but the storm's letting up. A guy like me just sort of knows what to listen for, you know?"

I shook my head, my expression blank.

"Kids these days," he muttered to Loki, who wagged his tail.

"What day is it?" I blurted, then looked away.

"The nineteenth. Why?"

Blushing, I asked, "Will you please untie me?"

Morgan sighed and began to work at the ropes around my ankles, until they fell loose. He then stood me up and held me steady. "Can you walk?"

I nodded.

Hesitantly, he started pulling at the knots around my wrists, keeping his eye on the pistol on the stove. "I have to warn you, I had to do some changes to your hair. Your stitches need to stay bandaged so sand won't get back in that wound."

When my hands were finally freed, I reached into my pocket, pulling out a small, compact mirror, noticing it had been cracked since I last used it, probably when I fell. Gazing into it, I noticed Morgan had done a great job of cleaning my face off. A large white bandage wrapped around my crown tightly. It was dotted with scarlet in several places. Something was odd, however. My head felt lighter, almost as if...

My eyes slowly turned to Morgan, "You didn't."

"Oh, but I had to. You can't stitch head wounds with hair in the way. You have to shear it off."

"But I've never had a haircut before!"

"Calm down. It's not all gone," Morgan muttered, "I only shaved half your head."

"But that's even worse!" I panicked and Morgan slapped my arm.

"It's only hair, Fanny. It grows back. Your hide wouldn't have unless I stitched it together." Morgan packed up the last of his things. "Yep, this is everything. Come on, Loki."

The wolf made a submissive yip, then trotted outside as Morgan opened the door.

I blinked, then stood upright. My leather armor was ripped open on both knees, and scuffed heavily on the torso piece. Parts were even shaved away.

Curiously, I peeked into the pot of water on the stove... Bandages lay at the bottom of the cooling water. I stuck my hand in the pot and pulled them out, scalding myself a little.

The door pushed inward gently, and Morgan slowly peeked his head inside. "Daylight's wasting, Frankie." He grinned, pulling his bandana over his mouth.

Wringing out the bandages, I glared at him, "Fanny."

"Nah, you're Frankie to me." Morgan pulled the bandages from my hands and stuffed them into a small first aid kit attached to his backpack, which looked like it contained everything Morgan could ever need.

"Where are we going?" I asked as he pushed me out the door.

He closed the door behind us, and I realized we were at Wolfhorn Ranch, where a man was known to have resided. It seemed he had moved on from this place, though. I wondered why, however. Everything a person could need, aside from social interaction, was right here.

"Wolfhorn Ranch..." I whispered, then looked up at Morgan, "Do you live here?"

"Heh." he flicked the butt of the cigar he'd been smoking into the dry stalks of the crops that were growing near the shack. They slowly began to smoke, before flames started flickering around the base of a few. "If I did, you think I'd have done that?"

My lips twitched and I bit my cheek. "Guess not. But why vandalize the place?"

"The guy who lived here just... isn't on good terms with me. Let's just say that." He started walking ahead, not looking back.

Somewhere, a coyote howled. I ran to catch up with Morgan. I was already winded. This was going to be a long walk to... Wherever we were going.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter IV**

We had walked in silence for what seemed like at least half an hour when Morgan said, without looking over at me, "Fanny, I've got something to tell you."

I took a few more steps before adjusting the tinted glasses Morgan had given me. Listening for what he had to say, I stepped over a pothole in the road.

"You should start speaking up more. Can't know if you heard me or not." Morgan sighed as I once again stayed silent.

We were approaching what looked like an NCR Ranger Station, and I finally spoke. "I don't know what to say. My dad is dead, I know that much."

"Look, Fanny. I have to tell you what happened." Morgan looked over to Loki, who seemed to be on the scent of some animal about twenty feet away from us. "Not many people know the full story, but I'm supposed to be dead. Murdered."

"Can we stop and sit down? It's so hot, and I'm tired..." I swallowed. The back of my throat felt about as dry as those plants Morgan so easily set ablaze earlier.

"Sure, kiddo." Morgan pointed to a pile of tires nearby. He kicked at them, making sure no rattlesnakes or spiders had taken refuge inside, then sat down on the edge of the biggest one. He motioned for me to join him.

I sat down, and took note of our surroundings. The ranger station was across from us, so these tires were most likely being planned for use as shielding somehow.

Morgan tossed me a bottle of water, and I reflexively caught it, examining the label. This was the stuff I was used to. Highly purified, Ultra-Luxe quality stuff, really. I looked up at Morgan, "So, you can continue." I twisted the lid off the bottle and downed it all in a few seconds.

Morgan sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose between his finger and thumb, then looked at me. "I can't put this lightly, Fanny. I... How old are you? I just can't tell you if you're as young as you look."

I averted my gaze and trained my eyes onto my hands in my lap. "I... I'm sixteen. It's my birthday next week."

Morgan cursed, before saying, "Look at me." He pointed at his forehead, apparently as a particularly nasty scar that looked like it'd been made by something like a 9mm bullet... But who survived a shot to the forehead?

Suddenly, I realized it. Everything made sense. My daddy had been so busy before he took me to that safehouse, and he'd never done that before. Always in his room with the door locked tight. When the door did open, there was no sign he'd even been doing anything. That could only mean one thing. He was plotting in secret.

The caliber of that bullet... An image of my father's pistol popped into my head.

"Maria..." I whispered.

He cursed again and stood up, "Sorry if I seem rude, but I have to take care of something." He unzipped his bag and grabbed a rifle that looked like something a high-ranking NCR trooper would carry, running out of my field of vision, becoming a blur of colors. There was a loud bang, and then Morgan walked back over.

"Sorry, kiddo, but we're gonna need to start walking again. Those guys were reinforcements. The Legion is full of bad people, and they'll chase you until either they get the job done or you kill enough of them that they just stop coming for you and go for your loved ones instead."

Wordlessly, I stood up and handed my empty bottle over to Morgan, then he stowed it in his pack for later reuse.

"You like trail mix?" he asked, after pulling a small pouch off his pack.

"Trail... mix?"

"You know, nuts, dried berries, little bits of bread occasionally. Stuff to keep you energized while on the trail." He tossed the pouch to me and smiled a little. "Let's get moving."

I nodded, walking behind him as I snacked on handfuls of the trail mix. It was strange how much of outside life I'd missed being sheltered by the Chairmen.

"Hey, we got side-tracked," Morgan laughed as he skirted a dead... something sprawled across the road. It had been buzzard food weeks ago, from the looks of it, and the smell wasn't exactly like fresh flowers.

I pressed a hand over my nose and mouth, "The last thing I said was 'Maria'."

"Oh, right. Well, there's no easy way to say it, but yes. Your father did try to kill me. I can't lie to you, Fanny... I got revenge on him. I'm sorry for your loss."

"It's okay," I mumbled, "I forgive you. I would have done the same thing as you did."

We walked on in silence for a few more minutes until Morgan said, "My strategy wasn't even needed, you know."

"When you killed my dad?"

"No, Frankie. Don't be so morbid." He pointed off to some smudges of color ahead of us. "My plan was to tell you all this while on the road, so you at least come with me to the next town. You didn't freak out on me and my plan wasn't really needed."

"So I'm guessing those blobs are actually buildings?"

"Yep." Morgan then whipped his head around and pulled his rifle out. He fired at three blurry, red shapes that were almost close enough for me to see fairly clearly.

Suddenly, it happened again. I fell to the ground. Only, this time, I was tackled from behind. Luckily, I flung my arms out just in time to break my fall. My glasses once again broke, though this time because they slid off my face.

"No," I groaned, and then roared as I rolled onto my back and began writhing in the grip of my crimson-clad foe. I spit in his face.

"You little worm!" the man growled, thrusting his palm directly at my tender, bandaged scalp. I groaned in pain as he wrapped his fingers around my skull and glared at me. "I'll be sure to get you a nice husband. Hell, might even marry you myself." He leaned in closer, "And I guarantee, this isn't be the only kind of head I'll be-"

Before I could even think to fight back more, and before he could utter another word, the head of the Legionnaire exploded, sending a splatter of brains, skull, and flesh across my face. His throat gurgled for a split second.

My face blank, I lay underneath the headless corpse, staring up at the orange clouds that dusted the sky as if they were the wispy strands of my wavy hair.

"So, you just gonna lie there forever?" Morgan asked, extending a hand to me.

I pushed the corpse off of me, rolling it over and listening to the dull thump it produced as it limply hit the ground.

"Today," I began, taking Morgan's hand as he helped me up, "I think I've been attacked more times than I have in my entire life. I'm really not good at this whole fending for myself thing."

Morgan laughed, "Well, maybe we can help you with that."

I picked up the frames of the broken glasses before tossing them somewhere far off. "Let's hope it involves prescription goggles."

Morgan led me by my shoulder toward the blurred shapes of buildings. He opened up a door and led me inside a room, then pressed a key into my hand. "This place belongs to me. You can stay here as long as you like, but leave the key under the mat if you ever choose to go anywhere, in case I need back inside."

I blinked, confused, and looked at Morgan, "You aren't staying with me?"

He shook his head and patted my shoulder, "No. I'm needed in other places right now." He turned and placed his hand on the doorknob, "There's a box under the bed with random junk inside. You may find some eyeglasses in there or in a drawer somewhere. If anyone asks why you're here, say Morgan sent you. A few people around here owe me one. I'll be right back, though. You need someone to look out for you, and I know just the guy." He walked outside and closed the door behind himself.

I stared at the walls for a while, before deciding to look for those glasses Morgan mentioned. I started by sifting through a box under the bed. Scraps from electronics, toys, bits of plastic, and wire frames were all I could find inside. I decided to check the drawers, and found a pair of thick eyeglasses immediately.

As I slid them on, I happily realized these were almost the perfect prescription, and I could see everything in the room clearly. Now, I just had to come up with a way to keep them on if I fell down again.

***********

When the door opened again, I was sitting on the bed, surrounded by wires and strings. I jumped, then put the glasses back on, shoving my few attempts to make a strap for them under a pillow.

Morgan stepped in the room and motioned for someone to follow.

A relatively tall man in cargo pants and a white shirt followed him inside. His brow was furrowed as if he were angry, which was barely visible beneath a pair of dark sunglasses. A red beret with some sort of badge clipped onto it topped his shaved head. He was silent.

"Well," Morgan said, "This is Boone. He's one of the town snipers. Ex-military. Got a nasty grudge against the Legion, and not much of a talker."

I looked over the man again. Being a sniper meant he had a good eye. Ex-military meant he had training and could teach me to fight. Quiet, like me... But most importantly, he had a grudge against the Legion. Morgan had found me the perfect companion with barely any time to think it over.

There was a silence that lasted a few minutes, before Morgan finally sighed and said, "Since Frankie won't talk, let me introduce him."

"Frankie?" Boone inquired, raising an eyebrow, "How old are you, exactly?"

"Old enough to know I'm not a boy!" I exclaimed, glaring at Morgan, who was cracking up with his hand over his mouth. "I did have gorgeous, long hair until someone in this room shaved it off!"

"Hey, I only shaved half your head!" Morgan said said defensively. "Ladies and their hair, sheesh."

"You two seem close somehow..." Boone said, looking over to Morgan, "I thought you didn't have any family."

"I don't." Morgan replied. "Closest thing I got to that is back east."

Boone grunted in response, as if he'd forgotten.

"I've got to leave now," Morgan said, shaking his head as he looked down at a golden pocket watch. He snapped it shut and looked up at Boone and then me, "I don't like long goodbyes, so I'll be seeing you."

With that, he left.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter V**

After Morgan left, we stared at each other for about fifteen minutes before I finally muttered, "You can sit down."

Wordlessly, Boone sat in the nearest chair, and the sound of creaking wood filled the air.

Awkwardly, I grabbed the straps I'd been working on and started fiddling with them.

Boone sniffled and then pulled a small knife out of his pocket, cleaning under his fingernails. He shifted and looked outside after he finished. "It's time for my shift... I'll bring you something to eat later."

I blushed and looked up at him, "I don't want to be left alone. I'm afraid."

He seemed to run his tongue along his bottom row of teeth, then sighed. "Alright."

I followed close behind him, so close, in fact, that I bumped into him more than once on the way there.

As I sat behind him in that dinosaur's head, I didn't say much. It was dark, and I couldn't see much more than what was right in front of me, and not just because of my poor vision. Most of what I did to occupy my time was just... think, which wasn't so bad; I was used to that.

Around an hour or two passed, before Boone looked back at me and pointed at a toolbox behind me, "Think it's break time."

I passed the toolbox to him and tilted my head to the side curiously. "How do you know what time it is?"

He pointed to the moon wordlessly and pulled an apple out of the toolbox, tossing it to me. He sat with his back resting against one of the teeth of the dinosaur, taking a bite out of his own apple.

"So..." I mumbled, blushing nervously, "How did you get into a job like this?" I couldn't stand another moment of this boring silence, for some reason, but the words didn't come easily.

Tossing the core of his apple far off into the wasteland below, he replied, "None of your business."

I bit into my apple. The satisfying crunch of teeth puncturing skin was oddly pleasing to my ears. Another question rose to my lips as I was chewing, so I paused, swallowing, and looked back up at him, "Do you have any family?"

"No." The response was cold, biting, with a sharp edge that seemed to slice the very air between us and leave a jagged wound in the atmosphere.

"If only we were all so lucky." My words cut the air almost as effectively as his had. I was proud of myself. Heat flooded my cheeks and my mouth curled into a smile as I noticed a slight hint of amusement cross his features.

"Frankie," he began, now clearly amused, "I think this could be the beginning of a wonderful friendship." His tone was mocking and hateful, but his expression held an almost frightening amount of seriousness.

"First off, my name is Fanny..."

. . .

Boone was right. We got along surprisingly well for two people with nearly ten years' difference between us, and after only a few days, I considered him a friend rather than a bodyguard or guardian.

Over the next several weeks, Boone and I unconsciously established a routine. He would only leave my room once I'd fallen asleep, and would wake me up about five hours before his shift. He also definitely took his job of watching over me seriously, but upon being asked why, he only ever replied that he owed Morgan a favor.

My seventeenth birthday had also passed a week after I arrived, but I didn't say anything about it. My birthday seemed something only my dad, the Chairmen, and I could possibly share together. I'm not sure if Boone knew the day was special to me or not, but he coincidentally ended up telling me his wife was dead, which I considered a gift in a way, a small piece of what made him the way he was.

Three months had passed before I knew it. The best thing to come from this lapse in time was a growth spurt, increasing my height by a full six inches, which I was quite happy about. I also found my figure filling out a little bit.

Things had gained such a sense of normalcy, however, that Boone and I had let our guards down. The routine we had established was our downfall, as that made us predictable to the Legion.

One day, as we took what was supposed to be a leisurely walk to the scrapyard just outside town, as we did almost every day after we woke up, it happened. We were ambushed.

Boone had taken out half of the party of Legionnaires before they could reach us, but he wasn't lucky enough to get the rest. One man can only take so many enemies at once... The Legion knew that much.

There was one thing they hadn't counted on, however.

I aimed down the sight of my new hunting rifle, grinnning from ear to ear as I took my first revenge kill on a tall, blond-haired Legionnaire.

Feeling a thrill unlike anything I'd ever experienced before, I aimed and shot again and again and again and ag-

Boone snatched the barrel of the rifle and pointed it at the ground, straining my wrists painfully and thrusting me back into reality. "They're all dead," he grumbled.

I felt my grin fade away, realizing I'd been laughing as I slaughtered those men. And I didn't care. A few more giggles slipped out of my throat.

"They should have seen this coming," I said uncomfortably as my excitement faded away, "There will be more. We have to start moving. No time to go back, it'll only attract them to town."

Boone shook his head, "No, they thought that one would take us down. They planned to overpower us. A distraction would only use one or two pawns. There were eight in that party, so you can bet they were slavers. We have time to go back for a few minutes."

I shook my head, nearly mirroring him, "Everything I need is either in my pockets, or on my back."

His eyebrows raised, quite the show of emotion for him. "I like your thinking. Now, you need to take those bandages off. They make you stand out, and if you aren't healed up by now, you're nearly healed, anyway."

Unclasping the safety pin holding my bandages together, I quickly unraveled the white cloth, knowing what was beneath. I'd kept the bandages on my head purely out of habit, really. The stitches had done their job, and only a long scar that was whiter than my own skin was left in their place.

My long hair fell free and flowed to my knees; I tucked it behind my ear unconsciously. The side of my head Morgan has shaved now sported about an inch and a half of growth, which I knew people would have fun pointing out, since it was in stark contrast to the other side. "As if I don't already stand out enough on my own."

Covering his mouth with the back of a hand, Boone seemed to try and hide some sort of emotion. "So, you really are female, after all." I thought I actually heard him laugh a little.

Completely unamused myself, I thumped his nose, my expression one of annoyance. "I was used to the bandages, so I didn't wanna stop wearing 'em."

"You coulda just worn a hat, Frank." Boone retorted coldly, then turned and started walking. That was the first time I saw him smile, even though it only lasted for a second.

Stepping quickly to catch up with him, I called out, "Hey, wait! Where are we going?"

"Hell if I know."

We wandered for hours on end, unsure of where to go, until sunset came and we forced ourselves to stop for the night in some unoccupied piece of the desert.


	6. Chapter 6

A soft, oddly-pleasing click was produced as I slid my glasses up the bridge of my nose with a fingertip. The midday sun beat down on Boone and I as we awkwardly stared at the sign before us.

"I've never been the best at reading-" Boone stated, before I abruptly cut him off.

"It says exactly what you think it does."

Tragedy, the sign proclaimed in shockingly bright neon pink. It appeared that at night, the letters would glow even brighter, beckoning patrons for miles in every direction. The building itself was colored a bloody red, with what was clearly a play on the Gomorrah pinup silhouette painted across the front doors. The only difference was that they seemed to have forgotten the arms... Or maybe they hadn't. I cringed slightly.

The double doors then swung open, seemingly of their own accord, causing me to jolt toward Boone, unconsciously hiding halfway behind his body, peeking out from behind his arm.

An imposingly large man held the doors open, staring at Boone and I with a confused, yet somehow annoyed look. After staring at us and taking in the mutual silence for what seemed like several minutes, the man blurted shortly, "Well, you gonna stand there or you gonna come inside?"

Boone headed through the entrance then turned toward me, raising an eyebrow expectantly.

Heat rose in my cheeks as I fumbled for the words I needed, before finally trudging inside, if only to escape the tortuous rays of desert sun. The doors shut behind me, a loud and resounding thud echoing through the small room. Being such an awfully jumpy creature after my run-ins with the Legion, my body's automatic response was to reel back and shrink behind Boone. Maybe it was childish and weak of me, but the last thing I wanted was to be tackled again.

A second door swung open, and a tall man in a cherry red suit and equally red top hat stood in the eave, leaning on a black cane, his gaze on Boone as he bowed. "Welcome, sir, to our humble cathouse."

Hearing this, I peeked my head out from behind Boone's shoulder, "I've never heard of a living cat before..." My voice came out in a near-whisper.

The man broke out in a cheshire grin upon seeing me, his handsome face bordering on frightening as he revealed eerily perfect, white teeth.

By the time I'd blinked once, he was at my side, giddy excitement seemingly pouring from him as he stared. Clearing his throat after a few moments, he spoke, his voice the seductive sort that gave goosebumps and set stomachs churning with butterflies. It made me rather nervous.

"Forgive my eyes for poring over you so openly, for I could not help but do so... Your skin is so exquisitely pale, your eyes so alluring and pink... And those locks. Hair so long, Rapunzel herself would feel a pang of jealousy. I could go on for days and still not feel I'd described your perfection adequately."

My face flushed deeper than it ever had before in my life, and my eyes met his. They were a warm, inviting shade of tan, framed by eyebrows black as pitch, matching the few stray two-inch locks that carelessly hung out from under his bright red hat, which obviously covered a very thick head of hair underneath.

His grin widened, becoming impossibly large and almost quite literally ear to ear. "I'm assuming you want a high price for her, yes?"

Boone furrowed his brow. "She's not-"

I grasped at his forearm, "Aren't you going to see the conditions I'd be living in first?"

Boone hesitated, apparently catching on quickly, "Yes. I guess I should."

The man fixed his honey eyes on me, poring them over my body in a way that made me uncomfortable. "You misread me, sir. I'd most likely be buying her for myself. One can't let a woman like this go to be bedded by any man who pays enough. Have you no concept of love at first sight?"

"How positively romantic!" I swooned, my face reddening as I practically leapt at the man, who stiffened at contact with me, wrapping an arm around my waist smoothly, though I could feel him trembling.

"She blushes, too," he let out in a breathy whisper, his face slightly going red itself. "I'll give you anything for her."

I twisted in his gentle grip, facing Boone and casting a confused look at him. I didn't know how much a person should cost! Come to think of it, I didn't want to.

He nodded, his sunglasses still covering his eyes, even inside a darkened place like this. "Five thousand caps."

Five thousand seemed so high! Couldn't Boone have at least been reasonable?!

"I understand," the man began, his arm tightening around me, in a way that felt almost protective. His other hand clutching his cane, he unsheathed a hidden sword from inside it. His arm shaking, he pointed the sharp sword at Boone.

With reflexes quick as lightning, Boone whipped out his hunting rifle and pointed it at the man, growling, "You know what they say about bringing a knife to a gunfight, motherfu-"

"Hey!" Another man rushed in from the hallway, tripping over his own feet and catching himself just before he could fall neck-first into the sword. He gripped at his throat, gulping at the close call.

A German shepherd dog rushed in, nipping at Boone's heels. Boone didn't flinch.

"Chaser, no!" The clumsy man, if he could be called that, as he appeared barely out of his teens, snapped his fingers at the dog, then turned to us. "I'm Jackson!"

"Hoooooooooooowie!" A slurred female voice chimed in. A tall girl walked in. She was wearing shorts so short that it should have been illegal, along with a tank top that showed off her midriff, which had an enormous scar running along it from what must have been a slash to the torso. It disappeared beneath her minimal clothing, implying that it was even longer. The most interesting feature about her, however, was her cobalt blue hair, pulled into messy pigtails, which framed a face decorated with piercings.

"Oh, dear god." Jackson whined, waving at the blue-haired girl, "I'll be right there, Axelle."

"Cathy's drunk and DeVere says I am, too." The girl, Axelle, it seemed, said something about a prostitute that I didn't catch, before stumbling toward the hall again.

"What was going on here?" Jackson asked, concerned.

"This man was going to sell her, that's what!" The red-suited man still held me in his grip, and I gulped. "If there's one thing I hate, it's slavers. All of my girls work here of their own free will."

"It's not his idea, it's mine!" I piped up, my voice tiny like a bird's chirp. "We needed money!"

"I feared as much. Perhaps introductions are in order, so we can better understand the situation. I am the Ringmaster of this humble cathouse, which people come from miles around to see. Some call it a freak show... with benefits." He let me go.

"Benefits." Boone repeated, obviously getting something I wasn't. "Meaning you can sleep with them?"

Now I got it. That explained all the banter about prostitutes and paying for girls. But the man said he'd wanted me for his own. He had seemed genuinely excited about it as well.

"You want me for yourself, right? What does that mean? Can I come and go as I please?" The words spilled out like water from a tipped glass.

The Ringmaster shook his head kindly, his cheshire grin returning, this time from sheer amusement. "If you're that hungry for caps, why not ask my other patrons here for a job? Keeping you here would be miserable for a girl like you, Fanny."

"How did you know my name?!"

The Ringmaster only winked in response, and gestured toward the hallway, disappearing as my head was turned.

Axelle had poked her head out of the doorway. "Where's Versing?"

"Versing?" Boone automatically responded, "First name?"

"Josepher." Jackson raised up one of his brown eyebrows, his hand going around to his back, as if ready to draw the hunting rifle which rested upon it. "Who wants to know?"

"An old friend," Boone replied, and I felt rather shocked. Friends with Boone seemed few and far between.

Jackson rubbed the back of his tanned neck, "We'll have to find Vers first. If I know him, he's on his way to camp to kill Ferox while he watches after the rest of our pack of dogs."

"Ferox?" I asked, confused.

"Ex-Legion. Nice guy."

Boone sucked in a breath, "No question, then. That's the Josepher Versing I knew. And ex-Legion? Only reason I ain't shooting him when we get there is 'cause Versing hasn't. Take us to him."

"Cool your jets, we'll get there," Jackson said, his hands in his pockets. "We need to round everyone up first."

Everyone? Just how many of them were there?

Jackson headed into the back of the cathouse through the hallway.

Axelle hiccuped.


End file.
